


Method to the Madness

by disarm_d



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: First Time, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 08:57:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disarm_d/pseuds/disarm_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> Louis doesn’t trust himself to know the right way to touch Zayn anymore.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Method to the Madness

**Author's Note:**

> Huge, huge thanks to who let me send this to her over and over again as I tried to work through it, she is incredible. Thanks also to shoreparty and slownight for letting me send this to them.

“So how many of you are single?” the interviewer asks.

Louis sighs, looking down at his legs, and lifts his hand. When he looks up it's to make eye contact with Niall who's happily thrusting his arm into the air; he ignores Zayn, who's also lifting his hand sheepishly.

“Three out of five,” says the interviewer. “Hear that ladies?”

There are a lot of screams from the crowd and Louis tries not to smile with too many teeth.

No one’s allowed to ask for specifics about the breakup -- Louis knows it’s on the list of Don’t Asks, even now, six months later, and that they’re probably waiting on him to say it’s okay to take it off the list, but he doesn’t, he likes having the buffer. It’s bad enough that everyone knew almost before he did that the relationship was over, he doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to say ( _they’re still friends, it was mutual, it’s mostly okay now, he almost never lies awake at night missing her anymore_ ).

“You looking for someone?” the interviewer asks them.

Louis keeps his head down, tunes out Niall chattering on about how hard it is to keep up relationships when they’re on the road nine months of the year.

Louis still has a Sharpie in his back pocket from when they were signing autographs earlier, and he grabs it and starts trying to put black dots on the back of Liam’s neck. He thinks that Liam probably has noticed by the fourth or fifth poke, but it’s not until Louis drags the tip of the pen down in a hard thick line that Liam turns around and tries to bat Louis away, which gives Louis the chance to stab at Liam’s hands as well; Liam didn’t think that one through.

Zayn twists around, ducking a little as he peeks over his shoulder. He grins when he sees Louis stabbing at Liam with the pen, long swipes now, given up all pretext of doing anything but drawing all over Liam. Zayn laughs, low and quiet, and even though they’re three bodies away from each other, it makes Louis falter long enough that Liam gets his hand around the pen. 

One of the producers walks over and takes the pen away.

\--

They’re herded over to a long conference table piled high with stuff to sign. Louis didn’t even know they made One Direction fuzzy slippers, but he scribbles his name across the sole.

“Zap,” Zayn whispers, his chin digging into Louis’s shoulder as he presses his face close to Louis’s neck. “Everything is already signed.”

Zayn’s _too_ close, and Louis hunches his shoulders in and pulls away, enough that he can see Zayn’s mouth instead of almost, almost, almost feeling it against his skin.

“And I have a proper cup of tea,” Louis says, because whoever brought him this mug let it steep way too long. “Zap.”

“And Harry stops stealing my sandwich,” Niall says as he tries to bludgeon Harry with a tube of One Direction toothpaste. “Zap, zap, zap.”

“That is _not_ how it works,” Louis says. He grabs a handful of lip gloss tubes (someone already opened the wrapping because they couldn’t remember what flavour they were all supposed to be) and chucks them across the table, managing to hit Harry in the head with one of them.

“ _Ow_ ,” Harry says, slowly.

One of the tubes rolls across the table, and Zayn picks it up, flicks off the cap and starts dabbing it across his lips. He puckers up his mouth ridiculously and Louis watches as he rubs his lips together, spreading the shine, before he remembers that he’s not meant to be looking, and starts signing across the top of a shoe.

\--

In hindsight, Louis should have been sure that the others were following him directly back to the bus before he wedged himself under the side cupboard by the door and waited, curled and cramped. It probably hasn't been more than three to seven minutes, but Louis's feet have gone numb from the squish of his thighs to his chest to fit into the small space. It's going to be difficult to jump out with any vigor. In further hindsight, it might have also been wise to take all of the stuff off the top shelf first. He can't remember - was there a lamp up there?

But no matter, when the door opens, Louis waits just long enough to ensure it is not security (who are a bit touchy about being startled, which is fine as long as Louis then has somewhere to run off to, but escape routes are lacking now that he's already on the bus) before springing up, muttering, “Shit," as the soles of his feet cramp up, then, "Ahhhh!" at the top of his lungs, throwing himself forward.

Liam only blinks at him, but it does appear that Niall has thrown his bottle of orange juice across the side of the wall.

Excellent.

"Ahhhh!" Louis continues, because now Zayn is tripping over Liam, stalled in the doorway. He raises his arms and waves them again -- sure it's belatedly but the dramatic effect is still there.

Zayn takes Liam's knees out (probably on purpose, Louis thinks. Zayn's a good lad.) and they go tumbling to the floor.

Louis is almost out of breath but he pushes from his diaphragm and manages to hold the scream until Harry's curly head pops into view. Harry surveys the scene long enough to narrow in on Liam and Zayn rolling around on the floor. Liam's about three seconds away from getting Zayn into a headlock but he loses focus when Harry's body comes crashing down on top of them, and Zayn manages to roll away, hitting Niall in the shin.

Louis pauses to take a breath, so really it's just good luck that finds him standing quietly in the corner when Paul walks in, while all the other boys flop around on the floor.

Louis pushes his hands into his pockets and beams.

Paul looks up at the ceiling, rubbing between his brow with a fingertip.

“Lads,” Louis says disapprovingly. “Get off the floor. We’ve got to get a move on.” He looks at Paul and makes this back-and-forth gesture with his hand, like, _I’ve got you covered_.

Paul’s left eye twitches.

Harry and Liam are flopping around on the floor, batting at each other like drunk kittens, and somehow Niall has ended up underneath both of them and is all red faced and wheezy. Zayn’s managed to extract himself and he’s stretched out just off to the side, propped up on one elbow, his knee pulled up and the other leg out straight in this kind of effortless sprawl that makes it hard for Louis to swallow. Zayn sees that he’s looking at him and smiles, slow and smug and dirty, and Louis makes his face blank because he doesn’t know what else to do. He thinks he’s probably supposed to try to tackle Zayn now, dive into the mess of limbs and finish what he started. But Louis doesn’t trust himself to know the right way to touch Zayn anymore.

It’s better when Niall makes a dive for Louis’s ankles, and Louis has to shove him away. Easier when he has something to do with his hands.

\--

Niall’s going to a show and Harry’s meeting up with Cara but they’re in LA overnight and Louis wants to go _out_.

Liam’s not that hard to convince, and Louis knows how to deal with Zayn -- he sits himself in Zayn’s hotel room and stares until Zayn huffs and finally marches into the bathroom to get ready. It takes a long time, which is probably partly to thwart Louis and and partly just because he’s gotten distracted staring at himself in the mirror. Louis is good at being patient for things required to get his own way, so he just sits on the bed and waits.

Finally Zayn walks out of the bathroom. He’s wearing a white henley that’s loose around the neckline, enough that the line of script on his collar bone is visible, and he’s doing that thing with his face where he clenches his jaw and purses his lips and makes Louis feel like a vacuum has opened up in the pit of his stomach and is sucking all the air out of the room.

“You’re ridiculous,” Louis says as he rolls off the bed, holding his hoodie in front so that he has cover for the moment it takes to adjust himself.

Zayn doesn’t respond, grabbing his pack of cigarettes off the dresser, picking up his jacket off the back of the chair. It’s a worn black leather that hangs loosely around his torso, like there would be room for Louis to slide his hands underneath, to feel the soft cotton of Zayn’s shirt and the narrow stretch of his waist.

“Do you want something to drink?” Louis asks, and he doesn’t wait for Zayn to answer before walking over to the minibar.

There was a while when Louis wasn’t drinking as much. Sort of like when he was happy, but he doesn’t like thinking about it that way because it’s not like he’s _not_ happy now. He just also happy to be drinking.

He’s the only one of them who’s 21, but they get into the club without any problem, a table filled with bottles waiting for them in the roped off section at the back. Louis grabs the largest bottle of vodka and sits down with it. Liam starts fussing about finding mixers, so Louis shoves the bottle in Liam’s face and glares until he finally takes a swig.

It’s not the same as partying back home, because the club is all complicated lighting and waitresses in tiny skirts and this weird rubbery black floor that feels a bit like walking on congealed grease. It’s not the same because Stan’s not there, and Louis doesn’t really know any of the people who are crowded on the bench beside him. It doesn’t even matter that there’s a blonde running her hand up his thigh because no one’s waiting for him at home, wherever home is now that he’s got this big empty flat in London and no one to come back to.

And it’s better that way, because he and Eleanor were fighting more than not by the end, but it doesn’t make it any easier to get his head together for _tonight_. To remember how to be funny and connect with strangers and enjoy the lights cutting through the black space of the club, the high ceilings and the throbbing bass spreading through the floor and up the walls. The heat that comes from having this many bodies moving together, breathing the same air -- he can’t remember how to find the link of connection to a room full of strangers moving to the same beat.

He _does_ remember how to polish off the better part of a bottle of rum, passing it to whoever’s sitting closest to him but making sure that it ends up back in his hands when they’re through. His throat hurts from drinking it straight and from yelling at full volume to be heard over the music. 

Liam’s there and then he isn’t. Zayn’s there and then he isn’t. Zayn isn’t. Where has Zayn gone?

Zayn’s talking to this woman with black hair and a wide smile. She looks like she thinks Zayn is hilarious, and that’s not right because no one knows that Zayn is hilarious right away. They have to get to know him first. Louis knows him; Zayn should be talking to him.

Louis pushes his way through the crowd, directing a general glare at everyone who gets in his way. Especially when like three people try to grab his arse, and _especially_ especially when one person actually succeeds. Everyone’s always trying to grab his arse, but it’s _his_ arse and he never said that they could.

Zayn’s in the middle of saying something when Louis comes stumbling over, but he stops and turns to greet Louis.

“Do you need something to drink?” Louis asks, ignoring the half full drink Zayn’s already got in his hand. “You should come back to the table.” Sometimes it’s better not to give people a chance to make the wrong decision, so instead of waiting for Zayn to respond, he grabs Zayn’s wrist and pulls him in the right direction.

Most of their corner has cleared out by now, so the bench behind the table is empty and it’s easy to push Zayn down and sit down beside him.

“Bro,” Zayn says, looking a bit stunned.

“We should do shots,” Louis says, reaching for a bottle but not bothering trying to find a shot glass. He swallows what is approximately equivalent to one shot or maybe like two but definitely no more than three and then shoves the bottle into Zayn’s hands, giving him encouraging eyebrows until Zayn stops making faces and lifts the bottle to his lips. 

He has a very sharp jawline and Louis is only a human being, so no one can fault him for leaning in and sucking on the long stretch of neck between Zayn’s stupidly cut jaw and the absolutely ridiculous line of his collarbone. His neck tastes like Louis wants to put his mouth everywhere.

Zayn sputters and pulls the bottle away from his mouth, vodka dripping down his chin, but Louis can help with that too. He licks up the vodka, sucks on Zayn’s lower lip because that looks shiny as well. And then he bites it because what did Zayn think was going to happen when he let Louis have access to his soft, soft mouth. Or maybe Zayn didn’t think. Louis isn’t thinking very much, he’s just going to -- he’s just _going_ for it.

Louis’s a bit drunk in his ears because there’s this rushing sound like he’s being swallowed up by a tidal wave. Like maybe the bass of the music has gone to his head and now the thrumming is in his bones, shaking his ribcage, every empty corner filled up with noise and lights.

He pulls back long enough to lick his own lips before opening into Zayn’s mouth. And Zayn lets him. He parts his teeth and lets Louis seal their mouths and slide their tongues together, kissing hard enough that Louis’s nose is pressed into Zayn’s cheek. Louis anchors himself with a hand to Zayn’s shoulder, like at least if he floats away he can make sure to take Zayn with him. Zayn inhales through his nose and Louis can hear it, he can hear it and he wants to hold Zayn’s head and listen to him breath and gasp and come. He knows he’s being too rough but he can’t stand how much he wants to be close to Zayn, and then just like that Zayn’s mouth is _gone_ and there wasn’t any warning but he’s far away now, scrubbing the back of his wrist over his mouth and staring at Louis over the top of his hand.

Louis clenches his hands into fists and drops his head, makes his face blank and dumb and laughs until Zayn starts laughing too, shaking his head, looking at Louis from across a great distance.

“I’m taking this away from you,” Zayn says, grabbing the bottle off the table. He pauses before walking away and in that moment Louis is glad that he’s had enough alcohol to be numb through and through. It was the first time he’d ever kissed a guy and already the memory’s gone too fuzzy. Louis wants to hold onto it, pack it away somewhere so that when he’s ready he can figure out if it’s just Zayn or if this is a _thing_ for him now. They kissed; Louis just needs to remember.

Zayn took the bottle they were drinking from, but didn’t think to also take all of the other bottles on the table. Most of them are empty now, but Louis finds a fifth that still has some rum sloshing around and he drinks what is left fast enough that it makes his whole face prickle furiously.

“Jesus, Lou,” Liam says, appearing out of nowhere. “It’s not going to escape if you slow down.”

“It might,” Louis says. “Then where would I be?”

“Still absolutely trashed,” Liam says. “And we’ve got a show tomorrow, so take it easy.”

“That’s hours from now.”

“You okay?” Liam asks, which makes Louis think that maybe he’s slurring a little, even though he’s trying to be careful. It’s his damn tongue. Sometimes it gets away from him.

“I’m not gay,” Louis says.

“Was someone being an arsehole?” Liam asks, his face clouding over as he starts to glare around the room, like he’s going to be able to pick out this hypothetical person who offended Louis at a distance and from sight only.

“No,” says Louis. “ _Everyone_ always says that I’m gay but I’m not.”

“None of us say you’re gay,” Liam says. 

“I tried to kiss Zayn on his face.”

“Niall actually succeeded at kissing Zayn on his face like three times when we were in New York,” Liam says.

“So it’s Zayn’s fault,” Louis says. “You’re saying that it’s Zayn’s fault because of what his face looks like.”

“That’s not really at all what I’m saying,” Liam starts, but he was making good sense and Louis doesn’t want him to ruin it now so he flattens his hand over Liam’s mouth, pushing at Liam’s forehead wrinkles with the fingers of his other hand. Liam needs to be careful with the expressions he makes with his face because right now, with the way his eyes are all bulgy and his forehead is rolling over on itself, he looks a bit like a demented ape. Louis strokes his head helpfully and tries to shove his hand a little further into Liam’s mouth, which -- wait, when did Liam open his mouth. Louis’s hand is going to be totally covered in slobber.

Everything about this night is the worst, Louis thinks. And then to cheer himself up he tries to fit his whole fist inside of Liam’s mouth. It works pretty well until the point where Liam starts biting down.

He doesn’t know exactly how it happens, but he ends up back in his own bunk, so something must go right. He should drink some water or find something to eat, but now that he’s lying down, there’s absolutely no way that he’s standing up.

He hears Liam crawl into the bunk beneath his, wonders if Zayn is also back, then tries to tell himself to stop wondering about Zayn and ends up having to have a wank instead. He’s so drunk that he takes a long time and he nearly falls asleep twice before he’s finished. When he comes, he splatters onto his shirt -- realises too late that he’s still wearing all of his clothes, but there’s nothing he can do about that now, there’s nothing he can do about much of anything right now.

He sleeps a bit, wakes up over and over again and eventually drags himself to the loo. The rest of the lads are still asleep -- or still in their bunks, anyway. He stops in front of Zayn’s, pulls the curtain back. Just to make sure that Zayn made it back onto the bus last night. He's sleeping, his arm raised above his head, knuckles digging into the pillow. He's not wearing a shirt and Louis is still drunk, so he has to close his eyes when the floor lurches dangerously. He pulls off his own shirt and climbs back into his bunk.

He sleeps for a bit longer, long enough that everyone else gets up and everything gets less spinny and more achy. He climbs out of bed and walks to the back of the bus, directs an outstanding glare to each of the lads, one after another (looking carefully at the tip of Zayn's ear instead of making eye contact, proper), and says, “Stop talking, stop moving, stop making noise,” before limping back to his bunk, where his legs and head hurt too badly to sleep but at least the curtain blocks out the light.

Someone peels back the curtain a few minutes later and Louis doesn’t know who he wants it to be, but it’s Harry, holding a glass of water.

“No,” Louis says, trying to roll away. 

“Come on,” Harry says. “It’ll help.”

“I will vomit and I will aim for you.”

"What did you _do_ last night?" Harry says.

"Nothing," Louis says. "Why? What did he say?"

"Who?" Harry asks.

"No one," Louis snaps. "Fuck off and die."

"Drink this and then I'll see what I can do," Harry says, giving Louis an annoyingly sweet smile. Once Louis is up for it, he's going to find something sticky to put in Harry's hair while he sleeps.

He takes the water and chokes back a few sips. The problem with water is that compared to alcohol, it's so heavy and thick and nauseating. Louis's body is used to alcohol, it doesn't know how to handle water anymore.

"This is disgusting," Louis says, trying to pass the glass back to Harry.

"Just a little more," Harry says.

"I don't deserve this," Louis says, throwing a wretched face after he manages to swallow three more baby sips.

Harry takes the cup -- fucking finally -- and rests his free hand over Louis's forehead. His palm is cool and the weight on Louis's head is just firm enough to be comforting. He closes his eyes and lets Harry watch over him.

\--

He actually manages to fall asleep with Harry holding his head, and when he wakes up a few hours later, his head feels less like a natural disaster alert system that is firing on all cylinders. He's not _happy_ to have to leave his bunk, but it's not as much of a catastrophe.

They're early to the studio where they're taping two songs and doing a three minute outro interview that's going to air sometime next week. He puts on the outfit Caroline has picked out for him. Lou's working on Niall's hair, so he's still got some time to himself.

He makes his way down the hallway, passes by the elevator and rounds the corner to find an emergency exit. Likely it's not connected to an alarm, so he pushes it open -- yes, no alarm, those signs always lie -- and walks out into the narrow side yard separating the studio from the building next door.

It's quiet except for the hum of the fan or furnace or whatever mechanical device is making that humming sound, and Louis walks along until he finds a ledge in the brick and can scoot up on the perch. It's not quite wide enough to sit comfortably, but he can balance.

The edge of the brick is digging into his tailbone, but he waits it out and eventually his arse goes numb.

He expects someone else to come, but he thinks maybe it'll be someone who works in the studio. Maybe a group of twelve year olds, which is really what he needs to keep an ear out for. Nothing like being cornered in an alley with fans.

Instead it's Zayn slinking between the buildings, wearing sunglasses, his hands stuffed into his pockets.

He looks sheepish when he realises that someone else is there, then when he looks up and realises it's Louis, he says, "Oi," and pulls his hand and a pack of smokes out of his pocket.

"Naughty," Louis says, pushing away from the brick and landing hard on the ground.

Zayn leans back against the wall and lights his cigarette, taking a long drag and then tipping his head back as he blows out smoke.

He murmurs, "Yeah," and takes another drag, curling his shoulders back happily, like he's having a bit of a cuddle with the brick wall.

He looks like someone should be taking pictures of him, even though it’s probably the last thing he wants right now. There are always cameras shoved in their faces, so they don’t spend much time taking shots of each other, but in this moment Louis wishes he had a camera. The black of Zayn’s hair against the red brick of the wall, the curl of his fingers around the cigarette -- with a camera they would just be colours and shapes, but standing here without one means that Louis has nothing to do with his hands.

“What are you thinking about?” Louis asks, because he’s worried if he waits Zayn will ask him the same question.

“Just tired,” Zayn says. “Late night.” 

Louis clears his throat, trying to push down the tight feeling. “I haven’t eaten yet.”

“Me neither,” Zayn says. “They’ve got a spread in the green room.”

Louis wraps his arm around his own chest to cup his palm over his opposite shoulder and says, “I was smashed last night.”

Zayn takes a slow drag, cutting his gaze sideways to give Louis a careful look.

“Don’t really remember too much about what we got up to,” Louis says.

“Yes you do,” Zayn says. He doesn’t sound mean about it, but, like -- firm.

“So do you,” Louis snaps, immediately defensive, even though Zayn isn’t the one claiming otherwise. He reaches over and snatches Zayn’s sunglasses off of his face, catching him a bit in the nose with the frame but otherwise making a clean grab.

“Are you trying to apologise?” Zayn asks.

“Does it _seem_ like I am?” Louis folds up the sunglasses and puts them in his back pocket.

“Don’t know what’s going on in your head, to be honest,” Zayn says. “You haven’t been talking much lately.”

“You’re the only person who’s _ever_ said I don’t talk enough,” Louis says. He keeps getting these flashes where he remembers kissing Zayn, like when he couldn’t stop touching his mouth in the shower, even though logically he knew they didn’t kiss long enough for him to get beard burn. Everything’s just going on like normal today, and Louis knows that if he gets outside of his head enough he’ll be able to go along with it -- to act like he’s supposed to and forget about whatever else. But the bigger part of him doesn’t want to, would rather be hiding outside the studio where he can smash things around in his brain with the hope that the hazy memories will eventually go clear.

He’s not necessarily ready for Zayn to be here as well, like _actual_ Zayn and not the image that Louis keeps turning round and round in his head, but there he is, standing right in front of Louis.

“Not about whatever’s happening here,” Zayn says and pokes Louis between the eyebrows. 

Louis frowns, takes a step back, ducking away from Zayn’s hand.

“Don’t,” Louis says. His voice sounds tighter than he means it to, a little panicked. His body doesn’t know how to be touched like that by Zayn anymore, like playful and easy and meaningless, and he feels everything Zayn does high in his chest, in that stupid epicenter where all the longing starts before splintering outward.

Zayn throws the butt of his cigarette to the ground, squares off in front of Louis and reaches out to poke him again, his finger digging into Louis’s forehead. It kind of hurts; Zayn is stronger than he looks.

“Arse,” Louis says. He remembers what it was like to be normal around Zayn well enough that he could probably go through the motions -- this is when he’s supposed to take a swing and miss and then they can turn it into play fighting. He should pretend to kick out Zayn’s knees and then fall back against the brick wall, wait until they’re both out of breath before throwing a heavy arm around Zayn’s shoulders to walk back into the studio.

Instead, Louis takes another step backward, crossing his arms over his chest. He turns his face away.

“It’s just that you were drunk,” Zayn says, like maybe in spite of everything he still knows Louis, still has him figured out.

But he doesn’t know everything, because then he asks, “Do you still want to when you’re sober?”

Louis flushes. There should theoretically be a time that he doesn’t want to with Zayn, but he hasn’t found it yet. Being sober doesn’t help.

Zayn leans against the wall, standing on one foot with his other foot crossed over his ankle. He stays quiet for a minute, working it out in his head before asking, “Like mates or that you’re curious or ‘cause you’re lonely?”

Any of those -- all of those except none of them capture the sick feeling hiding under Louis’s rib cage where all of the wanting has gone rotten from being left to fester for too long.

“What’s it for you?” Louis asks in lieu of answering, skipping over what should actually be the first thing he asks -- _is it_ anything _for you?_

“Been thinking about it,” Zayn says, which doesn’t actually mean that much because Zayn also spends long periods of time thinking about what it means to be a human and whether Drake is better than Usher and if he should continue his sleeve all the way up his arm or start tattooing other parts of his body instead.

“Because of last night?”

“Because of a lot of things.”

“Well. Me too,” Louis says. He feels like he’s about to get absolutely wretchedly cross but it’s still just skirting in the background; Zayn’s still staying calm enough that it rubs off on Louis and he can keep it at bay.

“Do you want to, like. Actually, you know, when we’re not drunk at a club?”

“Do you?” Louis asks, because maybe he can just keep asking questions until he tricks Zayn into giving it all away.

“Been thinking about it,” Zayn says again.

“I don’t want to have a fucking chat,” Louis says, his heart pounding so hard that his fingertips have gone numb. “Yes or no.”

Zayn tilts his head and Louis can see the way his jaw clenches as he purses his lips. Louis palms are sweating, and he doesn’t know if Zayn can tell that his hands are shaking a bit. He’s standing up very straight, tilting his weight forward onto his toes, so if this drags out any longer, he can go. He’ll be _gone_.

He watches Zayn, because he can’t convince himself to look away, so even though there's hardly any movement, he sees when Zayn nods.

"Yeah?" Louis asks, hushed. His voice is doing that kind of squeaky raspy thing that he hates because it makes him sound, like. Needy.

"Try it out," Zayn says, shrugging, like it's actually that easy.

"Okay then," Louis says. If he ignores the huskiness in his voice, he basically sounds like he's got this covered. "If that's what you want."

Zayn snorts, pushes away from the wall. He throws his arm around Louis's shoulders, rubbing his fingertips on Louis's arm, warm and friendly and possessive -- exactly like how he always touches Louis. Louis has to drive his elbow into Zayn's stomach to stop himself from leaning in closer, and even then there's no give to Zayn's stomach and it makes Louis want to push him back against the wall, crowd up against him, set his teeth into Zayn's neck and mess up his hair and --

He kicks at Zayn's shin as distraction and then runs the rest of the way to the door, ignoring the heavy feeling of his cock in his trousers.

\--

They've still got another hour until they go in front of the camera and Louis feels jittery in his hips and between his shoulder blades. All the secret spots that he can't squirm away from. He sits down, but his leg won't stop shaking, like he's trying to drill through the floor and kick his way to freedom.

Harry's texting and Niall's gone and Zayn's getting his hair done, but Liam has had his eyes closed for approximately 43 seconds and Louis's sixth sense is tingling. He drops off the arm chair, straightening his legs and sliding himself right to the floor, where he rolls twice and then crawls forward with his elbows around the side of the couch. He makes it around to the back and slinks up slowly, ready in case Liam has opened his eyes and is waiting for him on the other side. But it's just the back of Liam's head, drooping forward.

Louis reaches around, careful, careful now, got to be sure not to touch him until, "Ahhhhhh!" Louis screams, his fingers tight around both of Liam’s nipples.

Liam slams his head back, catching Louis in the cheekbone hard enough that he gets a burst of white behind his eye socket to go along with the pain.

“You’re a monster,” Louis says, clutching his face. “And literally no human has ever had such a hard head. Have you been hiding _rocks_ in there?” He thinks his eye might be watering a little bit so he leaves his hand covering his face.

“Sorry,” Liam says, looking genuinely apologetic. He’s hovering, hands flapping about uselessly.

“Replay at Harry,” Louis says, which gets him a half smile but also a very stern shake of Liam’s head.

“I’m probably not going to headbutt anyone else today,” Liam says. “Just a personal choice that I’m making.”

“Blatant favouritism,” Louis says.

“Do you think you might be concussed?”

“Might be,” Louis says, pulling himself up to sit on the couch, his legs pulled up in front of him as he tucks into the corner. “I get like twelve free shots for this.”

“No,” Liam says, but Louis is taking that as a maybe.

"Boys," says someone in a suit warningly.

Louis drops his hand and lets his eyes bulge, appalled at the blatant injustice. _Boys_ , when he alone was the one who ended up with a head injury.

"What have you done to your face, love?" Lou asks, coming at Louis with her stack of brushes and that horrible powder that always ends up caked up the inside of his nose more than anywhere else.

Across the room, Zayn is squinting at himself in the mirror, adjusting the collar of his shirt.

"I will destroy you," Louis hisses at Liam before he has to stop talking because there's a brush fluffing all over his face, covering up the red.

\--

"Whatcha doin'?" Niall asks, walking up beside Louis as Liam sings his solo during _One Thing_. They've only got a few moments before they have to start singing as well, but Louis is biding his time, eyeing Liam as he holds the bottle of water he nabbed from back stage just behind his back.

"Nothing," Louis says and nods pointedly at the crowd, because, hey, they're playing a concert, remember?

He waits until Liam is almost through his verse before darting up behind him, the bottle already uncapped, and dumps the entire thing out over Liam's head. He's trying to keep singing, so he's not really able to fight Louis off, and Louis even has time to shake the last little bit clinging to the rim right in Liam's face. He realises after the fact that maybe he should have been more careful to keep the mic dry, but it seems like it's catching sound okay, judging from the indignant squawk that Liam just broadcasted across the entire stadium.

Louis throws the empty bottle in Liam's face and takes off in a sprint, ducking in between Harry and Zayn as he books it across the stage, feeling Zayn’s fingers catch against the back of his hand in the moment before he passes by.

\--

Louis spends the car ride back to the hotel hiding behind Harry's slumped shoulder and keeping a careful eye on the back of Liam's head, because usually he doesn't have to worry too much about Liam trying to get revenge, but then occasionally he'll do something like slam his head into Louis's eye and it will really hurt.

Zayn's up in the seat in front of him, beside Niall, and they're bent together, sharing a set of earbuds as they listen to something on Zayn's iPod. They keep giggling at each other, trying to sing along to a song but they clearly do not remember the lyrics. Louis kind of wanted to sit beside Zayn but also he's glad that he's not. It's just harder like this, because Zayn's right in front of him and Louis's not sure if a sex pact means that he's allowed to get caught staring at Zayn's profile or if he still has to pretend that he's flushed because of the show.

“You okay?” Harry asks, soft enough that Louis doesn’t make out the words at first.

“Of course,” Louis says. “Why? Am I still bruised?” He touches his fingers to the side of his face, feeling for a lump even though Liam didn’t actually catch him _that_ hard.

“No, like, not your face,” Harry says. “You’ve been on a bit of a warpath lately.”

“Just like always,” Louis says. “Just the same warpath. Got to keep you lads on your toes.”

“Or sometimes you could talk to us,” Harry says.

“What would I have to talk about?”

“Don’t know,” Harry says. He’s got that soft, sweet look on his face that he gets sometimes, because he really does just want everyone to be happy. “Seems like maybe you’re spinning off a bit.”

“I’m just. Working some things through,” Louis says. “It’s okay.”

“Maybe just, um, let go a little,” Harry says. “You don’t have to try so hard.”

Which is utter bullshit coming from Harry, who tries harder than anyone else and has perfected the bewildered look of delight when everything falls right into his lap. Louis _tries_ , but he knows he’s just good for a laugh. He’s not like Liam, who works doggedly until he’s genuinely better than he was before, or Niall who knows how to focus all of his energy into the things that make him happy and waste none of it on the things that don’t. Sometimes Louis tries and he’s still just not that great, and he always gets caught up in all the _crap_. The only one who really would understand is Zayn, who also gets weighed down by all of the muck that gets thrown at them. Zayn gets swallowed up inside of his own head too.

But Zayn’s also most of what’s causing problems inside of Louis’s head right now, so he _can’t_ actually talk to Zayn about it at all.

“It’s alright,” Louis says, and then he reaches over to scratch his fingers through Harry’s hair. Harry goes immediately pliant and lets the conversation drop. If he wasn’t so obvious, Louis wouldn’t have so much to use against him; it’s not Louis’s fault that Harry is easy.

They get back to the hotel, and Paul hands out room keys. There aren't a lot of hotel nights, but at least they always get their own rooms now. Louis throws down his suitcase, tosses his hoodie over the end of the bed, his phone and wallet onto the side table. He washes his hands and leaves three towels strewn across the bathroom counter. After he's changed into new clothes and left his old ones on the floor, at least the room feels a little more lived in. He's just about to turn on his laptop when the phone rings. Like, the landline in the hotel, so it takes him three rings before he can locate the sound, confused when his mobile stays dark.

"Hello?" he answers, suspiciously. There's no way there can be noise complaints already, he just got here.

"Bro, you coming over or what?"

It takes him the better part of two and a half seconds to realise that it's Zayn calling.

"Why are you phoning me?" Louis asks.

"Can't find my phone to text," Zayn says.

"Did you leave it at the venue?"

"Don't know," Zayn says. "Paul's looking for it. He put that, like, phone tracker thing on after last time."

"Maybe Liam has it," Louis says, because half the time when they think they've lost something it turns out that Liam has brought it back with him.

"Checked with him first," Zayn says. "So are you coming?"

"Where?"

"My room," says Zayn, and Louis has to flatten his hand to the base of his neck because he can feel his heart beating up in his throat. He thinks about playing dumb, maybe trying to see how much he can get Zayn to ask for it, but sometimes it's a better idea not to piss Zayn off.

"You're 1542?" Louis asks.

"Yeah."

"Okay, so. I'll come," says Louis. He didn’t know if it was going to be tonight, but it’s not like they get a lot of hotel nights, so it makes sense. He’s been thinking about this for so long that it really shouldn’t feel sudden, yet somehow it does. Like he’s actually on the phone with Zayn, right now, and they’re truly going to do this. Pretty soon Zayn is going to be real again, right there in the same room with him. It won’t just be thinking anymore.

"Cool," Zayn says.

He doesn't hang up and he doesn't say anything else.

"Right now," Louis says, which is enough of a question that Zayn could say no if he wanted to.

"Cool," Zayn says again.

"Right, see you, bye," Louis says and hangs up the phone. He walks back to the loo, pats at his face with another clean towel, even though all of the stage makeup has long since been rubbed free. After throwing it on the floor and kicking it into the corner beside the toilet, he looks at himself quickly in the mirror -- just long enough to make sure there's nothing weird on his face without lingering to start what would surely be a never ending cycle of trying to fix his hair.

Zayn takes a long time to answer the door when Louis knocks. He pulls back the door and says, "What's up?" as if they hadn't just got off the phone.

"Not much," Louis says, walking past him into the room. He didn't bother putting on shoes and he's in his bare feet.

Zayn seems out of it, which usually means that he's actually thinking really hard about something but doesn't want anyone to know. Louis should maybe wait it out, but he doesn’t _want_ to, he can’t stand waiting even a second longer, so he spins around on his heel once he hears the door click closed, walks up until he's right in front of Zayn, takes another step closer, until they're near enough that their shirts are brushing. He tilts his head and waits for Zayn to do the same before closing the last bit of distance. Their lips make a smacking sound when they pull apart. Louis swipes his tongue over his lower lip and presses their mouths together again; the only point of direct contact is where their lips touch.

Zayn smells like cologne and like the gel he puts in his hair. He opens his mouth and Louis slides his tongue inside, slow and careful. He drags the tip of his tongue over the roof of Zayn's mouth as he pulls away, kisses him again -- the soft give of Zayn's lips before he opens his mouth and pushes his tongue forward, and, god, they're only touching with their mouths and their tongues. Louis wants -- everything, but he settles for sucking on Zayn's tongue. That must have been the right thing to do because Zayn makes this little noise, just so quiet except Louis could hear it, can feel the way Zayn is leaning closer, working his jaw open as he fucks his tongue into Louis's mouth.

Zayn's face is rough and prickles the edges of Louis's lips, giving the kiss this raw edge that Louis still hasn't wrapped his head around. He still hasn’t -- even as they’re kissing, he’s still trying to figure this out. If he were another person living another life, he thinks that he might have coasted through crushing on Zayn. That he would have thought about it in the same quiet, hazy way that he wonders about everything when he’s touching himself in the dark, and it would never had turned anything more. But in this life, impossible things come true for him every day, and he no longer knows how to want without going for it. Zayn’s more withdrawn than the rest of them, but he has it too, the need to push and push and chase the newest rush.

The kiss gives teeth to the hungry ache in Louis’s chest, and he pulls back, just enough to break the kiss, and waits. They're so close that Zayn will be able to feel it when he breathes. Zayn pauses, confused. He tries to lean forward, his mouth already soft and open, but Louis pulls back just far enough to stop him from making contact. Zayn waits another moment before trying to lean in again and Louis ducks his chin to stop their mouths from touching.

He opens his eyes; Zayn's eyes are still closed, black eyelashes fanning across the tops of his cheeks. His mouth is wet and red, lips parted, face tilted up, waiting for Louis to kiss him again. Louis brain roars with white noise from how hot it is. He dips forward, stopping just before his lips brush up against Zayn's, and Zayn gasps a little, but holds still, waits.

Louis licks his own lips again before he finally brushes his mouth against Zayn's, so softly that it almost tickles, the unbearable softness of Zayn's lips sliding against his own for this brief moment before Louis pulls away again. He takes a quick breath, watches the way Zayn’s brow wrinkles slightly as he waits. He wonders if Zayn knows how open he looks right now, if Zayn knows that Louis is watching him or if he thinks that Louis also has his eyes closed. He feels sharply pleased, being able to watch Zayn like this, being able to take what he wants.

He swallows, parts his lips just enough that they’re not touching before catching Zayn’s lower lip between his own. He keeps the contact feather light and then moves away, waits a beat before he leans in again, slides his mouth over Zayn’s so slowly that it’s more like a caress than a kiss. Zayn gasps, tries to chase after Louis’s mouth but stills himself when Louis doesn’t let him make contact. Zayn squeezes his eyes shut tighter but leaves his mouth soft and open.

The room is silence except for the sounds of their breathing, and Louis is glad that Zayn wasn't playing music. He’s got the lamps on either side of the bed turned on, but not the overhead lighting, so even though the room is lit, the light seems to be coming from far away. It feels like they’re pressed into a dark corner when they’re actually standing against the long stretch of the room’s main wall. The room feels close and private.

Louis brushes his lips to Zayn’s, ghosting over Zayn’s lower lip and then his top one, opens his mouth when Zayn huffs out a little breath so that they’re sharing the same air. His mouth is tingling. He kisses Zayn again, an upward drag of his mouth, and he lets the movement pull his lip back, sets his teeth into the fullest part of Zayn’s lip and bites down -- not sharp but deliberate. He tugs a little, pulling Zayn’s lip back and Zayn croons in the back of his throat, surging forward to crush their mouths into a real kiss. Louis moves away just long enough to prove that he _can_ before he falls into the kiss, licking into Zayn’s open mouth.

"Have you done this before?" Zayn asks when Louis finally pulls away again.

"Kissing?" Louis asks. "Yes."

"Like this?" Zayn asks, and Louis says again, "Yes," because he's tried kissing every kind of way he could think of, but this will always be his favorite.

"With a bloke?" Zayn asks.

"Not with a bloke," Louis says. "Have you?"

"Just, um. Just kissing," Zayn says. "Nothing else."

"But you want to, right?" Louis asks. It's probably not fair to keep turning this back onto Zayn, but Louis will keep pushing as long as he's able to get away with it.

"Yeah," Zayn says. His hand comes up, fingers cupping the back of Louis's head to pull him closer. Louis considers pinning Zayn's hand back against the wall, but he reaches to thread his own fingers through Zayn's hair instead, tugging his head back so that Zayn's mouth falls open wider.

Now that they’re touching, it’s impossible to stop. Louis gets his hands under Zayn’s shirt, lets go only to lift his arms when Zayn pulls frantically at Louis's shirt so that Zayn can tug it over his head and throw it onto the floor before yanking off his own shirt as well. He wonders if this has been as huge in Zayn’s brain as it got in his own, this kind of rubbery thread of longing that he can’t stop chewing at. He doesn’t know if he ever wants to tell anyone about this, but while he’s just him and Zayn, he wants absolutely everything he’s allowed to take.

It’s different when they kiss now, their bare chests sliding together. Louis’s sweeps his hand down the entire span of Zayn’s back, all this fucking skin for him to touch, and he curls his fingers between Zayn’s shoulder blades. They're grinding together a little bit, the fabric of their trousers diffusing most of the sensation, but it's still enough to make Louis's head spin.

He kisses along Zayn's jaw to press his lips to Zayn's ear lobe, catching Zayn's earring between his teeth and giving a tiny tug. He almost means it as a joke, but Zayn lets out this shuddering exhale, clinging frantically to Louis's shoulders, so Louis does it again, still careful of his teeth over the metal, but pulling a little harder this time. Zayn's hips buck forward.

"Bed?" Louis asks, and Zayn steps sideways, gone suddenly enough that Louis is briefly disoriented, but Zayn's stumbling straight onto the bed, climbing up and settling back against the pillows, his hand curling around his own thigh in what looks like a concerted effort not to palm his cock.

Louis follows after him, hovering a bit awkwardly when he first climbs up before he sits down as well, the both of them sat at the head of the bed. Zayn twists and climbs over him, kissing him hard and sloppy until they're both caught up in it and the slide down the mattress is more natural. Louis ends up flat on his back and he looks up at Zayn, who's flushed and breathless.

"Been thinking about this," Louis says, deliberately echoing Zayn's words from earlier in case Zayn reacts the wrong way and Louis has to try to play it off as a joke.

Zayn shivers. He drops his head when he groans quietly, but it just means that he's that much closer to Louis's ear. Louis slings his arm around Zayn's shoulders, pulls him the rest of the way down, slots their thighs together and pushes on Zayn's lower back with his other hand until Zayn grinds down, this horribly insufficient friction as they rut together in their jeans.

"Jesus," Zayn says, rocking down harder, and. Yeah, basically.

Louis feels Zayn’s fingers dipping below the waist of his jeans, pulling a little, questioningly, and he ignores it, flips them over instead, and starts working on the zip of Zayn’s jeans. He keeps his eyes down, focused on his hands. There’s this nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach, but if he ignores that, everything else is blessedly blank. His hands are very far away and if he thinks about it too hard, he probably won’t be able to manage very well, but as it is Zayn’s jeans slide open easily. Zayn’s helping too, lifting his hips, and his boxers come down as well. Louis pushes all the fabric far enough down Zayn’s thighs to be completely clear of his balls and then grabs Zayn’s dick, which is hard and cut and just a little bit cooler than the palm of Louis’ hand.

It’s the opposite of when he got his hand inside his girlfriend’s knickers for the first time. That was so fucking strange and he was completely overwhelmed with how excited he was to finally get to do it, how scared he was that he was going to do it wrong. She was so smooth and wet, all those secret folds to figure out, and it took a long time before his fingers knew the right way to touch her, back when sex was still this foreign language he was trying to learn.

Zayn’s cock feels like a cock and Louis’s hand already knows this. It’s a different shape from his own and the head seems bigger because he’s circumcised, but it’s not that different, not really. He’s not scared that he’s going to hurt Zayn, knows he just needs to lick his palm wet and then he can wrap his hand tight and start jerking him off for real. He thought it would be this big _moment_ , like it would mean something to be doing this for the first time with a bloke, but it’s easy. Zayn’s eyes are closed, and Louis likes it. If Zayn can’t see, then Louis can look at him any way he wants.

He uses his other hand to hold at the base, keeping Zayn’s cock steady while he works over him. He swipes his thumb over the head and watches Zayn for a reaction, but other than this little hitch in his breathing, he doesn’t do much, like he’s probably less sensitive than Louis. Louis circles his thumb harder, smearing precome in a slow drag, pushing a little harder until finally Zayn’s thighs go tight and Louis gets the reaction he was waiting for -- that edge where it’s a little bit too much to take and Zayn has to brace against it.

Louis gives another long rub with the pad of his thumb before Zayn says, “Okay, okay.” It takes him a moment after that, but he manages to blink his eyes open and says, “You should take off your trousers too.”

“Why?” Louis asks, twisting the hand he’s still got wrapped around Zayn’s cock pointedly.

Zayn grits his teeth, and says, “Come on,” stubbornly.

“Fine,” Louis says, rolling his eyes to be an arsehole. He works open the zip and between the two of them, his jeans and boxers are gone in a flash. They take Zayn’s clothes the rest of the way off as well, chucking them over the edge of the bed.

Zayn pushes him down when he’s crawling back up to the top of the mattress, his eyes crinkling happily when he’s got Louis lying down even as his own erection bobs between his legs. It’s kind of purple, especially at the tip, which Louis finds a lot hotter than he expected. Pretty much everything about Zayn’s cock is turning him a lot more than he realised it would and he doesn’t still know if it’s _Zayn_ , who always looks so good that he defies all laws of physics, or if Louis’s just generally into dicks now. There’s a difference between being horny and actually wanting a specific person, something that Louis figured out a bit earlier than the rest of his friends and has resulted in a few long lasting relationships and little else. Zayn fucks around more than Louis does, but he knows it too.

Zayn settles in between Louis’s legs, sitting back on his heels. He’s got skinny thighs and a tiny bit of a belly, even though Louis can see his ribs when he inhales. It’s hard to look at the whole of him instead of just focusing on the individual pieces -- the spots he’s been inked, the pale skin of his inner thighs, the dark circles of his nipples.

“Well?” Louis says, pulling his gaze up to Zayn’s face and arching an eyebrow pointedly. There’s no point to both being naked if they’re just going to look at each other. Except the obvious one.

“Alright,” Zayn says and then he ducks down, curling in on himself as he reaches for Louis’s dick.

His hand is dry, but he’s just holding Louis loosely. It’s a bit of a shock to be touched, even after all of the build up.

"God, Lou," Zayn says, squeezing hard and cupping his palm over the head of Louis’s dick. Louis is leaking and Zayn's hand slides in this way that makes the pleasure sharp. Louis can feel it in the back of his teeth and he bites down on the side of his tongue, just barely managing to stay silent.

Zayn's head is dropped as he stares at his hand on Louis's dick, his mouth quirked to the side in concentration. He seems a little baffled by Louis's foreskin, working it a little too roughly between his fingers as he tries to get it out of the way. Eventually he figures out how to push it forward with the circle of his fingers on each up stroke so it slides back and forth over the head of Louis's dick and Louis tilts his head back on the pillow, glaring blankly at the wall behind the pillow.

"Like that?" Zayn asks after one particularly good stroke that has Louis thumping his fist against the sheets as he looks for something to hold on to.

"Whatever," Louis says, digging his heel into the mattress with the effort it takes to stop from bucking up into Zayn's hand.

"You want it," Zayn says, quiet and smug, and Louis is suddenly furious, pushing Zayn's hand away, rolling them over so that he's on top.

"Shut up," he says, setting his teeth into the meaty curve at the top of Zayn's shoulder where he can bite down hard. It's stupidly satisfying to have something to set his teeth into, soothing in a way that he'll never be able to articulate. His mouth leaves a wet spot and he wipes it away with his palm, leaving his hand there to push Zayn back against the bed with more force that he really needs to use because Zayn isn't actually trying to get away. His cock is throbbing but it's distant and easy to ignore compared to the overwhelming urge to make Zayn beg.

He licks his hand and then grabs for Zayn's cock, holding himself over Zayn so that he can nip his way up Zayn's neck at the same time, and _goes_ for it, jerking him hard right off, no lead into it, just the fast tug of his hand. Zayn starts squirming, so Louis lifts his leg over Zayn's, curling his foot around Zayn's knee so that he can sit back and hold him down, his other leg on the bed for leverage. He braces his hand on the bed above Zayn's head and looks down at him, moving his hand fast, fast, as fast as he can go while still keeping the pressure relentlessly firm. Zayn's fingers are digging into his thigh, nails biting in hard enough to hurt, but it's good because he knows he's doing something right when he feels Zayn's fingers twitch, trying to dig in deeper.

Zayn's head is twisting back and forth, and he's making these high, shocked noises, calling out wordlessly, and then his cock throbs even harder as he starts to come, writhing so much that Louis has to slow his hand or he'll lose his grip. He pulls Zayn through it and then keeps going, even when Zayn's eyes go wide with how sensitive he's gotten. Louis works his hand deliberately, catching his fingers on the head of Zayn's dick until he makes enough noise to settle the hungry ache at the base of Louis’s throat. 

He jerks his hand over Zayn's cock a couple more times, just because he can, just because Zayn's letting him, before he lets go, looking at the mess of come spread over the back of his hand. He reaches for a tissue on the bedside table and cleans his hand before wiping Zayn down, careful when he rubs the tissue over Zayn's spent cock. Lying down on the mattress beside Zayn, he listens as Zayn's breathing goes from harsh and gasping to something gentler, settling eventually into a deep slow rhythm. It's obvious that Zayn has fallen asleep, but Louis turns his head anyway, looks at the spread of Zayn's eyelashes across his cheeks, the way he's still flushed even now that his mouth is soft and open. He's curling in towards Louis, the fronts of his knees pressed up against Louis's thigh.

Louis watches him fondly until he feels like he can’t stand lying in bed for a moment longer, and then he stands, collects his clothes from whether they’re scattered at the foot of the bed and onto the floor. He redresses quickly, throwing Zayn’s clothes into something of a pile at his feet for good measure.

The light in the bathroom makes this high humming sound, like it’s working a lot harder than just sending a glare to the white tiled floor. He washes his hand with soap, picks up the little bottle of hand cream and squeezes half of it onto his palm, pulling his jeans down with his other hand just far enough to get his cock out and wanking over the toilet. 

He’s distracted, pulling on his cock, like he’s moments away from coming if he could just concentrate on one thing, but his brain is racing all over the place. The hum of the florescent light and the way it felt to hold Zayn down while he squirmed and the scent of Zayn’s come on his hand before he washed it off. It’s a lot of things to think about all at once and his cock his so hard that he’s almost numb to the pressure of his hand.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here for, but when he looks up, Zayn is standing in the doorway, naked, his face still soft from sleep as he watches Louis with dark eyes. Louis doesn’t let go of his cock but he slows down, leaving his head up to keep eye contact with Zayn.

Zayn smiles with one side of his mouth, pushes away from the doorframe and walks over, crowding up behind Louis, but not _really_ , because the only places they’re touching are where Zayn’s chin is resting on his shoulder, and where Zayn’s palm has come around to rest on top of Louis’s hand.

Maybe he’d be able to feel Zayn brushing up behind him, but he’s wearing all of his clothes and the only point of contact he can feel is the weight of Zayn’s chin on his shoulder. The gentle pressure when Zayn tilts his head and presses his lips to Louis’s neck, kissing just under Louis’s hairline with dry lips. Zayn puts his mouth on his own hand after that, licks over his palm before dropping his hand down to Louis’s cock.

He pulls Louis off with quick easy flicks of his wrist, and Louis reaches behind, groping to find Zayn’s other hand. When he does, he laces their fingers together, holding on tight. He pulls their joined hands to rest on his hip, the circle of Zayn’s arm making enough contact that he can feel Zayn pressed up behind him.

Zayn moves their hands up to rest high on Louis’s stomach, just above his rib cage, and Zayn’s holding him properly now, his head tucked into Louis’s neck so that he can watch over Louis’s shoulder. He can picture the look on Zayn’s face, even though he can’t see anything but Zayn’s hands right now. The quiet, focused way that Zayn gets. He lets go of Louis’s cock long enough to lick his hand wet again and then it’s so wet and slippery that the pleasure grows, diffuses. Louis feels like he’s standing on the bathroom ceiling looking down at them. Like he’s watching himself. Another boy is jerking off his cock.

Louis lifts his other hand to rest on top of Zayn’s, both of his hands covering where Zayn’s palm is flattened over his belly, grounding. He’s wearing a shirt, but Zayn’s wanking his bare cock, so that’s what matters. Zayn’s naked still.

Louis’s hips start to move, a bit helpless with how long he’s been waiting to come, and eventually he’s fucking Zayn’s hand, sharp little thrusts forward. Zayn keeps his hand tight and doesn’t try to stop Louis from moving and it’s exactly what he needed. Zayn’s pressed all along his back, his hand steady over Louis’s cock. Louis goes silent and hopes Zayn knows that means he’s meant to keep doing exactly what he’s been doing because everything has gone to static. Louis can’t feel his feet or his hands or anything except his cock and the places where Zayn is breathing against his neck. He thinks he might pass out, so it’s a good thing that Zayn’s got a tight grip around his stomach. 

It’s a good thing that Zayn isn’t stopping, fuck, because Louis shoves his hips forward, riding into Zayn’s hand. He feels his orgasm coming from a long way off in the distance, and there’s a lot of warning but he still isn’t prepared when he comes and all the air is slammed out of his lungs. He sags forward, curling into himself with the intensity of it, and Zayn follows after him, stays pressed against Louis’s back, his hand holding tight as Louis’s cock jerks and he comes, the long moment where his focus narrows to nothing and he’s stuck alone in his own head but there’s nothing in his head except for Zayn.

He almost loses his balance, pitching forward and catching himself belatedly by reaching for the wall behind the toilet, but Zayn’s already got a good grip on him. He lets Zayn haul him back. Zayn lets go of his cock but keeps his arm wrapped tightly around Louis’s waist. Louis wonders if Zayn can feel how hard his heart is pounding, and then Zayn presses his lips gently to the back of Louis’s neck, so -- maybe.

It feels good to be held until it doesn’t anymore, and Louis bats Zayn away, twisting around to put space between them. Zayn doesn’t move at first and they end up kissing again, Zayn’s hands running warm and firm across his shoulders, down his back. It feels like they’re going to do this again, not right now, but sometime, and Louis goes a bit loopy with excitement.

Zayn washes his hand, rubbing soap between his palms in slow circles. He squints at himself in the mirror before grabbing one of the bath towels off the rack and wrapping it around his waist.

Louis tucks himself back in his trousers. He wants to leave the bathroom, but he needs Zayn to start moving first, because he’s kind of blocking the door. Zayn’s running his finger along the edge of the sink, leaning against the counter in this way where it almost looks like he’s lounging, except it’s this sharp ledge of granite. He’s quiet for a long moment before he looks up.

“I want chicken vindaloo,” Zayn says, finally.

“Oh my god,” Louis says. “You’re thinking about food?”

“I’m hungry,” Zayn says, unabashed. “We spent so much time touching each other’s pricks and I still haven’t had dinner after the show.”

Louis gapes a little, and then he starts laughing, kind of hysterical for how shaky his body is still.

“Zap,” Zayn says. “Dinner is waiting for us in the room.”

“This is actually a problem we can fix,” Louis says, elbowing Zayn in the back as he pushes past him. He sits on the edge of the bed and calls for room service, asks for all the kinds of curry, _I don’t care, just all of them_ , without checking the menu.

He hangs up the phone and then it’s quiet in the room again. Zayn’s resting against the door frame, still standing in the bathroom.

He looks like the person that Louis just had sex with, he looks like one of Louis’s best friends, he looks like the dork wearing a bath towel.

“You coming over there then?” Louis asks.

Zayn grins, and walks to the bed. He drags his feet a little and has these skinny, skinny legs. The towel around his waist makes him look smaller because he’s got a big fold in the front where he’s tucked the edge in place. Louis feels the same when he wants to feel different.

“Was it what you thought?” Louis asks when Zayn sits down beside him.

“Don’t know, to be honest,” Zayn says. He raises his eyebrows while he shrugs, his face gone silly and soft.

“Yeah,” Louis says.

Zayn wraps his arm around Louis’s shoulder, pressing their cheeks together hard enough that Louis can feel the smush in the hinge of his jaw.

Louis shoves him sideways and Zayn falls onto the bed, bouncing a little before pulling his legs up as well so that he’s lying back, his hand tucked behind his head. He closes his eyes, and Louis pulls up one knee, hugging it to his chest, pressed along Zayn on one side, his other leg still dangling off the bed.

Zayn’s hair’s gone messy, fluffy at the crown of his head. His tattoos look very black across his collarbones, the thick ink on his pec, his hip.

“You’re staring,” Zayn says, without opening his eyes. He lifts his hand and wraps his fingers around Louis’s ankle, keeping his eyes shut the whole time. Louis feels his toes twitch automatically, the little itch in his foot telling him to kick out, but he stays still and lets Zayn hold him.

“Was it what you wanted?” Louis asks, quieter this time in a way he would like to pretend is just because they’re already so close together.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, his face changing as he smiles, a private moment that Louis watches greedily.

“Oh,” Louis says, almost in spite of himself of himself. He ducks his head and touches his nose to his knee, hiding his smile in his jeans. When he lifts his head, Zayn’s eyes are open, and for a moment Louis almost drops his head again, because it’s all just right there, but he doesn’t.

“I was thinking about this,” Louis says, same as every time before except this time it feels like a confession.

Zayn tilts his head a little, quiet and patient.

“I thought a lot about -- you,” Louis says, after pushing past the tightness in his chest where the wanting and worrying have gotten so folded together that it’s hard to ease them apart.

He looks at Zayn and shrugs one shoulder, almost in apology.

“Zap,” Louis says and then he doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. He doesn’t remember how he used to touch Zayn, back when this was just a stupid game they made up because they couldn’t stand waiting for the things they wanted. He opens his mouth but doesn’t know how to turn it into a joke.

“Come here then,” Zayn says, and Louis climbs up onto the bed, lets Zayn twist them around until they’re properly pressed together. Zayn’s arm around his waist, Zayn’s cheek pressed against his temple and the sound of him breathing quietly. Like maybe -- just this time -- to get what he wanted, all he had to do was ask.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [on livejournal](http://disarm-d.livejournal.com/313457.html).


End file.
